The Groom's Still Waiting at the Altar
by Tafadhali
Summary: Scott knows Jean better than anyone ever has or anyone ever will. How'd they get there?


**HOW DID I COME TO THIS OH GOD WHY**

Scott wasn't sure he was looking forward to the arrival of the new kid. He knew that made him sound like a four-year-old afraid that mommy wouldn't love him anymore, but it wasn't like that. He'd just…settled in. He had his room like he liked it, with hospital corners, a neatly organized closet, and that one really cool James Bond poster. He had Ziploc bags of pre-made after-school snacks in the fridge, and the Professor had helped him get the television programmed to record _Nova_. He was even getting used to his new high school. Sort of. Scott had a routine. Scott liked routines. He didn't need a new kid to come and make fun of his glasses or something.

Misgivings aside, Scott was good at being welcoming and non-threatening. It was why freshmen liked him. He put on the new green polo shirt Ms. Munroe had bought him at Macy's and tucked it into his cleanest pair of jeans. The new girl was a telepath, like the Professor, and apparently she'd wrecked her mom's car by levitating it into a tree. She didn't sound like she had very good control of her powers yet. Scott gave himself an once-over in the mirror above his desk, and said sternly, "Do not think about pink elephants." He wasn't sure it worked if you psyched yourself out, but he could sure try.

Scott settled awkwardly into Professor X's office to wait. He sighed. Professor Xavier had said Scott could fly the X-Wing, but then the new girl's dad had decided to drive her. They lived in Westchester or something. There was nothing good about this at _all_.

Someone pushed tentatively at the office door – a skinny red-headed girl with nervous eyes peered in from the hallway. "Hello? Um. Mr. Xavier said the other student would be in here?"

Okay, maybe not so bad.

Scott swallowed hard. "Um, that's true. Or, that's me. I'm Summers. Scott Summers." Oh god, he was suave. Somebody shoot him.

His mind-crushing awkwardness seemed to set the girl at ease a little, because she smiled and slid the rest of the way through the doorway. "You don't seem that unsuave," she said, sitting in the Professor's faded green armchair and pulling her knees up under her chin. "I'm Jean Grey, and I guess –"

Scott must have looked kind of mortified, because the new girl got a stricken look. "Oh gosh, I'm doing it again, aren't I? I really don't mean to, I try and stay out of people's heads, I really do, Scott, but…" Coffee mugs and paperweights shot off Xavier's desk and Scott's chair started to rattle as Jean became more agitated.

Scott leapt up without really thinking about it – thank you, Danger Room reflexes – and grabbed Jean by the shoulders, trying to exude calm, which was difficult because he was not a little freaked. "Hey," he managed, trying for a carefree smirk, "You want to talk control issues? If I take these shades off, I microwave the Institute. Xavier and Storm have helped me learn to keep cool and control my powers. They know what we're going through, and –" Jean looked up at Scott with hopeful eyes, and even though he was certain he'd had a really inspiring speech planned out, what came out was, "– and, um, we've got good snacks." He dropped Jean's shoulders like they burned him. "In the kitchen. Do you want carrot sticks? I could go for some carrot sticks."

Jean blinked. Then she laughed and tugged at her ponytail. "Yeah. Sure. I would love some carrot sticks, Scott."

So, Jean wasn't all that bad really. Scott liked that he was comparatively the cool, well-established one at school, who could show Jean how to find the gym and where the best water fountain was. Jean had been a popular jock her freshman year – it seemed like a new girl, always with a name like Peyton or Britney, called her every night from "back home" – but she said hanging out with new people gave her a headache (all those new emotions, and Jean was always worried they thought her overalls were so 9th grade or something) and stuck close by Scott in the cafeteria. "I've already missed the soccer tryouts anyway," she said, stealing one of Scott's grapes. Jean claimed to have no appetite, but Scott had noticed that she always had room for food on _his_ plate.

Hanging out with the cute new redhead didn't hurt Scott's cred, either. Of course, Scott's "cred" was, even now, basically limited to his friend Paul from Bio eyeing him jealously and saying it was sad that Scott was clearly so willing to take advantage of such a sweet girl's obvious mental handicap, so Scott wasn't exactly the belle of the ball, but still. Paul seriously had a newfound respect for him.

And Jean was _fun_ at home, after homework when she'd put on flannel pajamas and make popcorn with parmesan cheese – "The only recipe I know," she said – and play Scrabble or watch Animal Planet with Scott. Scott hadn't had a sibling in a while, but he imagined it was something like this.

She swung her legs onto Scott's lap, and tried to levitate the remote control to her side of the couch. For the fifth time, Scott thought grumpily.

"Jean! They're talking about battle groups!" Scott batted the remote down again.

"Your science show is recorded, _Sco-ott_," said Jean, poking Scott in the side. "The TBS showing of _When Harry Met Sally _is not."

"We'll _rent_ it this _weekend_." Scott squirmed and pushed Jean's hand away. "Look, women in combat!"

"You could probably simulate the entire _Gulf War_ in the Danger Room."

"Oh man, you think?" asked Scott, excited. In that moment of inattention, the remote flew from his armrest and into Jean's waiting hand. Jean smirked.

"If you used that kind of control in the Danger Room," muttered Scott, "maybe the Professor would let you use Cerebro." Scott would have felt bad about prodding a sore spot, but a) _Nova_ and b) Jean took a visceral, almost vicious joy in the Danger Room – and in kicking Scott's ass. Stupid athleticism.

Jean pulled a decidedly unattractive face, the kind she never pulled on a kid asking or for homework help or on the Professor, even when he made her do psychic chores. She pushed the channel button with her mind, as if to prove a point, and sneered triumphantly at Scott – 'Show-off,' he thought – but then curled up against Scott's side and nestled the popcorn bowl between them.

"I think it's so sweet that Harry and Sally were friends first," she said after a minute. "My _best_ relationships have been with people who were friends first. Dontcha think, Scott?"

Scott blanched. He knew Jean had been dating since, like, fourth grade but this was _so unfair_, and he was probably going to say so and sound really lame, but he was saved by the appearance of some old people on the screen who were, it seemed, _adorable_.

Naval battle groups, Scott thought personally, were less intimidating.

In the spring, Jean made the softball team, always a Bayville weak point, and was suddenly the Messiah of Bayville sports. And Jean was nice and smart and _Jean_ and nobody hated her. It was screwing with Scott's routine.

Paul was less than sympathetic. "Dude, it sucks that your girlfriend came to her senses."

"Shut _up_, Paul," Scott growled. "She's just a _friend_."

And he and Jean were totally still friends. Scott would meet her in the kitchen after practice and fix them peanut butter sandwiches. She'd help him with Bio and he'd grill her on History. And Jean, while she was never exactly _mean_ about the kids at school – Jean genuinely liked most of her new friends – did wicked impersonations of the Bayville royalty that Scott doubted they'd exactly _appreciate_.

And he was pretty sure he was the only one who saw this side of Jean. For one thing, he couldn't believe that Jean would commiserate in mocking those less popular than her, so that left imitating _him_ out. He knew that Jean liked to start her homework on Friday afternoons also, and that she practiced what she was going to say in English beforehand in case she sounded stupid. (Actually, Scott thought she tended to sound the tiniest bit arrogant instead, but since he always trailed off mid-sentence with "and, yeah…" he couldn't really criticize her methods.)

Oh, and Scott _knew_ that when Jean got a bad grade, in class she might fold her paper in half, smile ruefully, and say, "I guess I shouldn't go to all those wild parties, huh?" but the second she got home, she'd slam doors with her mind, practically kill Scott in the Danger Room, and then make him take her out for frozen yogurt. The first time she got a C- in math, Jean said words Scott didn't even _know_.

So Scott knew all that about Jean, but he had no _idea_ who she was when she was with Gillian or Duncan or Suzette or Taryn. And when Jean flipped her hair and stroked Scott's face in the hallway, it was nothing like when she casually fell asleep on his legs after a particularly intense Danger Room session or wrestled with him for the last Oreo at home.

Scott was _confused_, and every time he hung out with Jean now he was afraid he'd say something like, "Sometimes I miss you so much it hurts," which was both girly andstupid.

The problem was that Jean was the only person Scott talked about anything with – Paul was basically useless and Scott just didn't get how Jean could be so familiar with the Professor, unless it was because they were both psychics? He tried to talk about it with Ms. Munroe, but he didn't really vocalize it very well, he guessed, because she looked puzzled and started giving him the _Talk_, and he had to pretend that the Professor had called him psychically and told him to run an errand.

Scott started going on lots of long runs. Running helped him think. And, really, he thought, he was being ridiculous. He and Jean were teammates, practically a family, and resenting her for having outside friends was petty. No one knew the urge to be normal like Scott. The fact that he was getting thrown into a funk because Jean was _better_ at it than him was really, really pathetic. Scott collapsed on a park bench, breathing heavily. He was going to have to cut this out, starting tonight.

When he got home, he thought he'd even tell Jean about his resolve, because he had to have been being a little weird lately. He showered first, because he'd found that apologies worked better when you smelled nice, and then stopped by Jean's bedroom. She was on the phone, but she waved him in.

"Um, sorry to interrupt, Jean –" Scott hesitated in the doorway.

"No, it's fine," she whispered, then said into the phone, "I've got to go now, Tar, but I _know_, can you even believe it? See you in History." Jean snapped her cell shut. "Scott," she said, "I've had the craziest evening. Duncan Matthews asked me out, can you believe it?" She scrunched up her face in an amused little moue, as if to say, 'I thought he was a dumb jock yesterday, but now I see that he's a handsome square-jawed upperclassman and we're going to elope and have beautiful non-mutant babies and maybe send you a Christmas card every other year – if we remember.'

Scott's issues with Jean were, it seemed, slightly thornier than he had previously thought.

And things didn't get any _better_, because then it was summer and Jean went home for a month, and did a service trip in Mexico, and when she got home she was taller and tanner and spent all her time in a bikini on the beach with Duncan. She still practiced in the Danger Room with Scott, but now she treated it less like a game and more like a chore – like having to levitate the furniture in the living room so that Scott could vacuum underneath it.

And in the fall all these new X-kids started moving into the Mansion, which Scott thought was _great_, seriously, but which made him and Jean practically…parental. He stopped putting his feet up on furniture and moved his James Bond poster (it was actually kind of dorky, in retrospect) and he felt like an overgrown hall monitor. Jean-at-home became more and more like Jean-at-school – if she threw psychic fits about her C in Drama, Scott didn't see it.

Talking to Jean about it was even less helpful than it used to be. Scott tried for teasing, which was never a good plan, and said, "Hey, we never watch _Nova _anymore. Is the honeymoon over?"

Jean rolled her eyes and said, "I can't even talk to you when you're like this, Scott." She turned to leave. "I have to go help Duncan with a Chemistry project."

Scott didn't know what "this" was, or how he could avoid being like it, but he didn't think Jean had minded it last year.

But maybe these things went in cycles, because apparently Jean carried a photo of them in her backpack, and after her disastrous date with Blob things were a lot more like old times for a couple of days. She even stood up Duncan to study the Balkan Wars with Scott that weekend. Even with things as weird between them as they were, Jean still remembered what they'd been like. Maybe Scott was the de facto leader of the X-Men now, but Jean&Scott was his first team and sometimes when he was being especially self-indulgent he hoped it might be his last. If these things went in cycles, then Jean would come full circle, right? He was willing to wait.


End file.
